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P O E M O F T H E D A Y
THE LAST TOAST
by Anna Akhmatova
I drink to our ruined house,
to the dolor of my life,
to our lonliness together;
and to you I raise my glass,
to lying lips that have betrayed us,
to dead-cold, pitiless eyes,
and to the hard realities:
that the world is brutal and coarse,
that God in fact has not saved us.
Copyright ©1973 Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward. All rights reserved.
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